


Morning Light Tastes Better

by randifrnZ



Series: A Sprawling Metropolis [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arya and Sansa are close and that is important to me, Daenerys stays in Meereen since she's already a Queen there, Edric Storm does not exist for my plot convenience, F/M, Gendry is a gentleman and I love him, Ned is trying to do his best for the purposes of my plot, No White Walkers, Prince!Gendry AU, and she is thriving, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randifrnZ/pseuds/randifrnZ
Summary: Brandon Stark was never pushed from a tower and Ned Stark became Hand of the King with reservations but without suspicion. He goes about his position with more caution and a greater interest in learning the ways of court. As such, it takes him longer to suss out the Queen’s betrayal to the crown and even longer to rip all her roots out from their hold on King’s landing.Three years after the Stark’s arrival in King’s Landing, Ned had all his pieces in place and made his move to depose the Queen, remove the Lannisters from King’s Landing, and set in place new heirs for the King. Unfortunately for one of his daughters, this last task required a marriage alliance that will have to be made under less than ideal circumstances. However, Starks have honor coursing through their hearts, and what must be done will be done. This is the story of that daughter, her strength, and her duty.





	1. Here we lay our story

**Author's Note:**

> I love Prince!Gendry AUs, so I made one for myself. This is my first story in this fandom and for this pairing. I adore them and so so many stories others have made for them. So, that makes it a little tough to post this when I know this story has already been told so many times and so well. But I do so anyway because I personally could read a thousand more of these so I figured I could help add to the pile. Please, enjoy the first chapter!

For the most part, Arya had enjoyed her time in King’s Landing over the last few years. It was a tough adjustment at the start, leaving Jon and her brothers and mother and Winterfell and setting off for a new land full of strangers and too warm weather with her father and sister and Septa Mordane. 

She and Sansa had lost their wolves along their way because of the cowardly crown prince, and she had felt as if she had had no friends in the world at all. But, her father had found Needle and had enlisted the First Sword of Braavos to teach her the art of Water Dancing, and she had finally found a foothold in this new life she had never even wanted. 

She trained and explored and met as many new people as she could, similarly to how she had done in Winterfell. She made a life and a home for herself. She found routines and enjoyed visits from her mother and brothers over the years. Though, and she would never tell them as to not hurt their feelings, the brother she missed most of all could never visit her as she wished. 

By the time she reached the age of three and ten, she was content with her life in King’s Landing. Father had told her he would find her a worthy match when the time came, but she held out hope that Sansa’s match, to the crown prince himself, was good enough that he would not feel the need to use his second daughter for any additional alliances. She knew that might not be very likely, but he had not made any mentions in years of any potential suitors. She hoped that meant she had time to develop new stratagems to ensure her freedom from marriages and ladyships. None of that interested her the way it did Sansa, a true Lady. She wanted to be Queen, and Arya wanted that for her.

Arya only wished the future King, and future husband to her sister, was as worthy as her father wished for them both. To Arya, he seemed cowardly and boring with changeable moods. He would boast of great strength and feats but never proved himself in fighting or in court. She could not respect the boy, now nearly a man grown, but Arya hoped he would be as good to her sister as her sister seemed to think he would be. 

When Arya was four and ten, their father seemed to grow similarly discontent with Prince Joffrey as she. He would never say as such to them, but Arya could see her father withdrawing from the boy, no longer reaching out to him to teach him lessons on good lordly practices as he had in the beginning. He was the Hand of the King and closer than a brother to the King. He wanted to see the boy as another son to him, but the boy would not have it. 

Sansa also seemed to withdraw further from Joffrey as the years had gone on. On the rare nights when the two sisters were not squabbling at one another in their shared room, Sansa would whisper to Arya in the dark quiet moments of the cruelties of the prince. How he hurt animals and servants alike. How he would tell her she was worthless and how a Queen was only meant to make babies for the King. 

Arya doubly hated the prince. Once for herself and a second time for her sister who could not express it for herself without repercussion from court and the current Queen herself. She told herself that she would do anything to protect her sister from this vile royal family. 

Solutions with more problems came forward soon enough. 

The two sisters loitered outside the throne room as Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, father of the Lady betrothed to the crown prince, brought forth proof to the court of incest and infidelity from the Queen. He did this by bringing forth a number of natural born bastards of the king in King’s Landing, all with hair of black and eyes of ice blue. No child born of the Queen was true born of the King, with their yellow hair and green eyes. The Queen and her brother, Ser Jaime Lannister of the King’s Guard, would be beheaded, and their children spared and exiled from Westeros, at the behest of the Warden of the West, their grandfather Tywin Lannister. 

Arya feared the shame this would bring to Sansa. At six and ten, Sansa would be known by all the land as the former betrothed of the All-Lannister-Prince, as he would be known. They found out later that day, as they loitered outside the throne room for hours as these matters were being discussed among the court, that their father had also declared that the eldest of the bastards he had found would be legitimized as the heir to King Robert Baratheon’s line and would be the new crown prince. He followed that by announcing that a Stark daughter would still marry the King’s heir. 

At this, Arya looked to her sister to see her utter dismay at realizing that her ordeal was not over and in fact would likely pick up exactly where it was left off. Arya’s heart broke for her sister, who would be traded from one man to another without her consideration. What she would not do to protect her. 

The two sisters rushed from outside the entrance of the throne room to their shared room in the Tower of the Hand.

“I do not wish to be Queen any longer,” Sansa said as soon as the door closed. Both feared to speak such truths in the presence of listening ears.

“You don’t have to, Sansa,” Arya told her sister, taking her hands in hers. “Tell father you have had enough. You have done your duty as a Stark. You have tried to marry King Robert’s prince. It is not your fault he was no true prince.”

“Father would never listen to that. He already announced it to the King and his court. He can’t take it back now,” Sansa held her sister’s hands close to her heart. 

“Then that was his mistake. He will look the fool, but you do not have to do this. You deserve all the freedom your heart desires.” Arya looked into her sister’s eyes. Six and ten and so very beautiful. She had been since before Arya could remember. She looked like she should be Queen, while Arya looked like she should be in the stables most of the time. Covered in sweat and scrapes and wearing breeches and hair falling out of loose northern braids. 

At a loss for words, Sansa pulled Arya into a tight hug, nuzzling her face into Arya’s hair.

Arya knew her sister was a true Northman at heart, like all Starks. But, she did not want her sister to have to brave another betrothal and soon be married to another of King Robert’s sons, though this one would be natural born to him. She would fight her father when they saw him next. Sansa deserved better than to be sold to the next son in line for the throne. Arya would not stand for this.

“I cannot believe Father would make these decisions without telling you,” Arya complained to her sister as they broke apart and moved to sit on the bed they shared.

Sansa sighed. “A father does not need to tell his daughters of such things like betrothals and re-betrothals.” Sansa looked at her hands then at Arya. “I don’t want to do this,” she said softly. “I haven’t even met him.”

Arya gave her a weak smile. “What if he’s fat and smelly like his father?”

“Arya!” Sansa let out a surprised laugh. “You must not speak such things,” she said, but Arya could see her holding back a smile. 

“If Joffrey is what you get with just Lannister, I don’t know what a real Baratheon sired boy will look like,” Arya said, considering. She wanted to make her sister smile, at least once more before their father caught up with them and made his words real. “He’ll pry already have a long and unkempt beard just like the King! With lots of gray whiskers, too!” She scratched her nails under Sansa’s chin.

She swatted at Arya. “No, he won’t! He can’t be more than twenty. One and twenty at most.”

Arya poked at Sansa’s stomach. “And, his belly will be so large that he won’t be able to see his own cock when he pisses!”

Sansa put her hands over Arya’s mouth and gave her the most scandalized look she could make. “Arya! Language!” She smiled a real and true smile, and Arya could not help but return it.

They heard footsteps in the corridor, and all mirth was lost from the room. Both girls, and truly they were both only girls, stood from the bed and at attention as their father opened the door and entered the room before closing and locking the door.

He looked at both of them, back and forth, for a few moments. His mouth was open, but no words came out as he took in their expressions. Arya saw this as an opportunity to tell her father that he was making a mistake with his daughter.

“Father—” Arya began, but Father cut her off.

“Arya, no.” He said sternly, and she scowled. He took a deep breath and looked at both his daughters again, not yet addressing Arya’s obvious frustration and Sansa’s deep frown. “I’ve already discussed this matter with your mother. I received a raven with her support this morning.”

“But I—” Sansa tried to interject, but Father stopped her as well. She frowned deeper.

“Please, my sweetlings. Hear me speak.” He took a deep breath in and rubbed his hands down his face. He moved them to sit at the table near the window. He looked at Sansa then Arya. “There is great unrest with the discovery of the Queen’s crimes against the crown and her lies to King Robert. He thought those children his own.” He looked both pained and pleading. “The easiest way to settle the unrest this has caused would be for King Robert to remarry as soon as possible, but he refuses and swears to never marry again. A marriage with House Stark to his newly found son is the only way to quell any discontent with the Lords of other Great Houses who would rather have their sons in his place.”

Arya’s wrathful expression softened when she turned to her sister to see a few delicate tears streaming down her face. She could not believe the injustice of this world. Sansa had just narrowly escaped the fate of a cruel husband to have her father replace him with some unknown man. She would do anything to take her sister’s pain away, to give her the opportunity to have a quieter life and find her strengths and joys in her own time. 

Father rested his hand against Sansa’s cheek and wiped a tear away with a thumb. He withdrew his hand with a sigh and turned to Arya, one pair of intense gray eyes met another. The wrinkles around his eyes were deeper than she remembered the last time she really looked at him. She had a sudden thought that she had not seen him smile in a very long time. _This ordeal with the Queen and her children must have been seeping his joy from his heart for longer than we knew._

“Arya,” her father said with weight in his voice. “He is a good lad, I swear. I have spoken with him many times, and I think you two will be a good match.”

Arya felt her eyebrows go up and all her blood drain from her face as a weight fell in her stomach. She whipped her head toward her sister. Before Sansa could hide it, Arya saw the instant reaction of relief wash over Sansa’s face and her shoulders relax. 

Sansa caught Arya’s eye, and the older sister’s expression changed to one of confusion as she processed the information. “Not me, father?” Sansa asked for both of them. Arya could not speak for herself in that moment, only managing nonsensical splutterings as too many different thoughts fought to be voiced at once.

“No, the King fears you spent too long with the Lannisters and fears they may have left some hold on you. He is foolish in this, but his mind will not be changed for now.” He reached both hands out to grab Arya’s hand with one and Sansa’s hand with the other. First to Sansa, “I will find you a match worthy of you who is brave and gentle and strong and will bring you great joy and many beautiful children for you to love and adore. Your future is so bright, my darling.” He turned to Arya, “And, you are of the North. You have strength these southerners could never imagine. You will bring stability and inspire loyalty to this kingdom, I know you will. And, I do believe you will like him. He is a strong and hard-working lad. He was an armorer’s apprentice before I found him. I am confident he could make a sword just for you if you were to ask him to do so. He is very proud of his work. He is not learned, but he is quick and stubborn enough to try to learn even more quickly, especially with your help. He will need your strength in the coming years.”

Arya wanted to yell at Father and tell him that there is no man he could find that she would agree to marry. She had dreamed of stealing away with a horse and Needle should her father ever try. She would find Nymeria, and they would be free wolves in the woods. Or, maybe she would sail to Essos and see Braavos where Syrio Forel spoke so highly of, or sail West and see whatever came first, the edge of the world or new unfound lands.

But when she looked to her sister, she saw persistent and visceral relief. Sansa tried to hide it, tried to bring herself to dispute Father, but Arya understood that if they stayed in this life as Starks in King’s Landing, one of them would marry this new prince. If Arya ran or fought or refused, their father would find a way to convince King Robert that a Stark girl trained by Cersei Lannister is better than no Stark girl at all.

She had asked for a way to help her sister, and she was given one. She took it, despite it breaking her heart for the future she had envisioned for herself. She was a wolf after all, and a wolf protects her pack.

Arya turned back to Father and swallowed before she spoke her assent.


	2. First Glimpses and the Brave Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry is legitimized. All he needs now is his northern bride. Arya steels herself and remarks on the words of the houses she is from other than House Stark, and they give her strength and resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and all the lovely comments! They made me so happy and helped me get this next chapter ready faster than I expected. Enjoy!

The royal decree for the prince’s legitimization was signed that very day in court. Soon after, ravens were sent to the Citadel and all the relevant Lords of the Seven Kingdoms with an invitation for a ceremony for the legitimization as well as for the wedding of the prince to a daughter of the North.

The King’s Small Council wanted the wedding to happen as soon as possible so as not to give any dissenters the time to devise stratagems to remove this new prince from his new station. The ceremony for the legitimization was not strictly necessary, but the Hand of the King and the Small Council thought it would help the lords see the new prince as exactly that, their Prince. They set the date for the legitimization ceremony for one month from Ned Stark’s announcement at court to give time for these lords to gather to King’s Landing so they may witness it and swear their fealty to the King and this Prince. The wedding would be a fortnight after that.

Arya and Sansa had not seen much of their father in the weeks following his announcement. Initially, Sansa had withdrawn from Arya, refusing to speak to her or even eat with her at meals. Arya had felt deeply hurt and alone during those few days. She was doing this for her sister. She was doing this for her family, but she did not have any of them there with her to comfort her and tell her what to expect in the coming weeks or years. 

After a week of this, Arya confronted her sister in the only place the two girls were ever honest with each other. Late at night in the safety of the dark of their room and their shared bed, Arya told Sansa how scared she was and how she wished her sister would tell her that everything would be right and good in the end. Sansa finally confessed how guilty she was that she was relieved that she would not have to marry the strange bastard prince. 

Sansa whispered, “I feel as if I am the worst person in the world. I am the older sister. It is my duty to protect you, but I cannot bring myself to challenge this.”

Arya grabbed both her sister’s hands in the dark and brought them between their faces which were only inches apart on the same pillow. “Sweet sister, I am so happy for your relief. I have done this for you. I do not want you to challenge this. I simply wish you to stand by my side as I do this. I will need your strength in this, as I worry that I will not have enough to meet my fate.”

“Arya, you are the strongest person I know. I have no doubt for you, even in the deepest parts of my heart.” Sansa closed her eyes and kissed their joined hands. “I am sorry I have withdrawn from you. I could not bear the shame of my cowardice, but I will find my courage so I may give it to you and you may have more for yourself.”

“I love you, sister. Do not leave me to face this myself,” Arya kissed their hands as well.

“I swear it,” Sansa whispered back.

-

The sisters had not been permitted to see the new prince yet. They did not know if this was to prevent Arya from seeing him and changing her mind or the other way around. Or, likely because he was not oft in the castle. There was much to do and much to teach the prince even before the ceremonies. Maybe, it was simply because it was to avoid any plays on his life before the lords could meet him.

The first glimpse they had of him was at the ceremony for his legitimization. It was held in the throne room. It had been packed with Great and Small lords from all across Westeros, there to see their future King be acknowledged and to then swear their fealty again to the crown.

Arya and Sansa stood on the raised walkway to the side of the room toward the far end. The great doors to the throne room opened and the lords parted as a tall, young man with broad shoulders and black hair walked in with their father to his right and the High Septon on his left. His jaw held no hair and he was dressed in a fine doublet and sash. Arya could not make out his exact features, but in the quick glimpse she had of his face before she only saw his back, he seemed to be frowning with his brows pulled tight together. However, his stride was determined if not unsure. 

As he walked to the dais where his king father stood waiting with a proud smile for the boy, _man_, Arya was not sure, she turned to her sister to see her blushing delicately. Sansa met her eyes and whispered very low, “I think he’s handsome.”

The man bent to one knee in front of his father.

Arya scowled. They barely saw his face. “I doubt King Robert could have a handsome son,” she whispered back just as quietly.

The High Septon began a speech about duty and lineage and honor.

Sansa smirked and looked back at the ceremony. “I have heard that King Robert was very handsome in his youth. That there was not a woman alive who could resist his face. Or his shirtless chest.”

The king beckoned his son to rise and then clapped him on the shoulder with a loud bark of a laugh. Her father seemed to be smiling his usual reserved smile as well.

“Sansa!” Arya admonished quietly. It was hard to imagine now as the king seemed to struggle even with the prolonged standing required of the ceremony, shuffling from foot to foot throughout its entirety. 

The king, the prince, and their father turned to the crowd in the throne room, and King Robert boomed, “To Prince Gendry Baratheon, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros!”

“To Prince Gendry!” the crowd cheered back. All lords in attendance took to their knees in respect. They would each swear their fealty individually later to the king and his new prince.

_Gendry_, Arya thought. _The new Baratheon and my future prince husband_.

Prince Gendry turned his head across the room, seeming to survey the bowed heads of the men. He was too far away to make out his face, but Arya suspected from the rigid stance of his body that it was still twisted into the scowl she glimpsed before. 

Arya and Sansa were some of the few ladies in attendance, so they were some of the few individuals to remain standing. They caught Prince Gendry’s eye, and for a moment, Arya was struck by how intense his stare was. She could not tell if he was looking at her or Sansa, but she felt it in her bones like a shock from fine silk as she ran her fingers along it. His eyes were so blue that she could tell even from this far away.

Arya felt Sansa reach for her hand and hold tight. It broke her from the moment, but Arya still could not look away from Prince Gendry. 

He finally looked away when his king father grabbed his arm to walk down from the dais and to leave the throne room. He did not spare them a glance as he left, looking straight ahead for the entire walk. Their father did, however, spare them a look and a smile as they neared. 

Arya tried not to stare as she was finally able to see Prince Gendry’s face long enough to take in his features. Despite the scowl that she was correct in guessing was there, he did have excellent features, the face of a man grown. A strong jaw, unhidden by a beard. The bluest eyes she had ever seen, framed by long black lashes and thick black brows. His shoulders and arms seemed to be straining through the thick fabric of his doublet. Arya blushed when she noticed his thick thighs seemed to also be straining in his breeches with every step. She wondered why they didn’t get him clothes that fit. But, she could not stop herself from also thinking, _He’s strong_.

When they had left the room and those remaining stood and broke into many conversations, Sansa grabbed Arya’s arm and pulled her toward the Tower of the Hand as quickly as she dared. They both knew to say nothing until they reached the privacy of their room.

“Arya,” Sansa said with a mischievous smile.

“Sansa,” Arya replied snottily, not returning her sister’s stare.

“Arya, he is a very handsome man, and you know it.”

“Fine, yes, but he also looked so sullen. Am I to spend my days with a sullen prince?” Arya asked, crossing her arms over her chest and walking over to the window to look out at the city. 

Sansa joined her, her smile still firmly in place. “Sweet sister, Joffrey was not half so handsome, and despite his cruel nature, I did find him so.”

“That does not matter to me,” Arya retorted.

“Liar,” Sansa replied with a smirk. 

Arya wanted to retort again, but she just scrunched up her face and sighed. “He’s old,” she said quietly, remembering how tall he was, taller than their father.

Sansa sobered up as well. “Yes, I did notice that, but father said he is a good man. We never met her, but Mother said her sister, Aunt Lysa, was six and ten like me when she married Lord Arryn. He was much older! At least fifty with a full head of gray hair. Prince Gendry doesn’t have gray hair. It looked soft,” Sansa’s last comment was softer than the rest.

Arya’s worries were only slightly alleviated by what Sansa said. She could acknowledge that she was very lucky compared to many other noble ladies who were married to mean, ugly old men in faraway lands never to see their family again. She would still have her father close by as the Hand, and Sansa would be here for a while longer. Sansa’s last comment finally registered.

Arya gave her sister a sly but sad smile, “Are you changing your mind now that you’ve seen that this new prince is far more handsome than we expected?” She was only half-joking with her sister.

“No,” Sansa answered seriously. “I am still very sure and still very grateful to you. I think this is how this is meant to go. And, when Mother gets here, she will assuage your fears for the wedding night. I am sure he will be gentle. Father is the one who found him, and if anyone could, I am sure he is the one who could return him back to where he is from.”

The girls giggled at this. Thoughts of their father soothed her fears more than anything else. He would do anything to protect them. He found a way to take Joffrey from court when he showed himself to be a bad match for Sansa, and he could presumably do the same if this Prince Gendry were to do the same. Though, Sansa’s betrothal had been for much longer. She had been able to see Joffrey’s true nature before she had been sworn to him for life. Arya’s own betrothal was near frighteningly short, not long enough for even two moons to turn. She had never even spoken to Prince Gendry. She likely would not until the wedding itself, if the last few weeks had been anything to go by. She would insist to her mother once she arrived with her younger brothers that she would get to meet Prince Gendry before the wedding. Hopefully, she could figure something out.

-

Arya’s hopes for her mother’s support for her plea were dashed when she arrived at King’s Landing a few days later. 

“When your father and I wed, we had never met until the wedding itself,” her mother tells her in response to her request to meet the prince before the wedding. Her mother had sympathy for her daughter, but she did not worry for her. “That was mostly due to the logistics of the situation. We were wed as soon as he had returned from the Battle of the Bells. A week later, he returned to the fighting, and when we were reunited at Winterfell, we began our lives together and our love grew from there over time.”

Arya and her mother sat together in the gardens of the Red Keep. Arya kicked her feet against the ground, dissatisfied with her mother’s response. She was grateful to have her mother’s presence for support, but she wished her mother would be able to better assuage her fears. 

“I know this is all very hard for you, my daughter, but I am very proud of you. And, you will make an excellent Queen, I am sure of it.” Her mother tucked some hair that had fallen from her braid back behind her daughter’s ear. “I know this is not what you wanted, but you are showing yourself to be a true Northman, and a Tully at that, doing your duty. I was nervous myself when I heard I was to marry Eddard Stark, the new Lord of Winterfell.” Her mother sighed wryly and looked at her hands. “I do not know if you or your sister know this, but I was first betrothed to your father’s older brother Brandon before he died. I had met and known him before we were to wed, and I was happy for it. I had only ever heard of his younger brother, and what I heard was that he was quiet and reserved. So very different from Brandon with what your father calls his ‘wolf blood’.” Catelyn put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and looked her in the eyes with a smile. “But I knew my duty, and I was told your father was a kind and gentle man. From what I hear from your father, this Prince Gendry is much the same. Quiet and reserved and a good boy. I do not believe you have anything to fear from him.”

Arya pouted to her mother, “But, he’s old, mother. A man grown.”

Her mother’s mouth twisted in distaste. “It is true that I do not like you having to wed so young. I myself was seven and ten when I wed your father, and that still felt a bit young. But, if Prince Gendry is an honorable man, he will be kind and gentle with you, my sweetling. And, in just a few years’ time, your difference in your years will seem of no consequence. I am sure of it.” She pulled Arya close and kissed the top of her head. 

She held far greater distaste than she had led on to her daughter about her young age. She wished they could have delayed this by a few years, as they had tried to do for Sansa. She would not let Arya know of her reservations lest she caused more worry in her daughter already. In less than a fortnight, her youngest daughter would be wed to a bastard Prince and be tied forever to this Viper Pit called King’s Landing for the rest of her days. There were many parts of this arrangement that she did not like, but she saw that this was the best decision for the circumstances. She truly was hopeful that Arya would find a good companion in this new prince. From what Ned had told her, he did seem like a good lad who might be stubborn enough to survive Arya Underfoot, who had her own ‘wolf blood’ in her.

-

The day of the wedding, Arya would have thought she would not be able to stay still with worry and fears. However, she found herself still and quiet, lost in her thoughts. She had to be shaken from her reveries many times throughout the day by her family and servants so she could continue with preparations. The night before, she had planned an early morning escape to practice her Water Dancing one last time as a girl before she became a woman wed. When she woke at the first soft rays of light, she instead found her mind occupied with all the questions she wanted to ask Prince Gendry before they wed, though she knew she would not be able to. 

What was it about him that her father and mother were so sure he was ‘a good lad’? What makes someone a good lad? Had father ever thought that of Joffrey? Had he thought that of King Robert when they were boys? What if Prince Gendry grows up to look as King Robert does now? Arya liked to think she was not so vain as to care if her husband became uglier as he grew old, but the king, despite being a good friend of her father, seemed so boisterous and graceless.

“Arya?” Sansa was touching her shoulder to bring her out of her thoughts again. 

Arya looked to her sister. In a far off voice, she said, “I thought I’d be angrier. I thought I would fight and thrash more against all this. Or at least be more troubled, but I don’t feel anything. I just have so many questions for him. I wish I could ask him before the wedding, but I cannot.”

Sansa hugged her sister to herself and squeezed tight. “You are the best sister any girl could ask for. You know that, right? You are the strongest, bravest, toughest person I know, and you make me proud. Being scared right now does not make you weak.” Sansa brought Arya an arm’s length away and said with great ferocity, “It just makes you braver for it.” 

Arya felt tears come to her eyes, but they did not fall. Her sister had never looked more like a Stark than in that moment, eyes blazing and giving a rallying speech as if she was sending her sister to battle. And, Arya had never felt more like a Tully than at that moment. She didn’t have the Tully red hair or their blue eyes, but she felt their words in her bones: Family, Duty, Honor. 

-

Arya stood with her father outside the doors to the main chamber of the Great Sept of Baelor. Her family waited on the other side. Robb had had to stay back at Winterfell to act as Lord, and Jon could not leave his Brothers of the Night’s Watch on such short notice, but everyone else came, her mother, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon. Her future prince husband was also there, presumably already standing with the High Septon, in front of a hundred members of the court and all the important lords of all of Westeros. 

Her father took both of her hands in his and turned her to face him. He looked into her eyes, and she saw that they were brimming with tears to match hers. Her tears had been sad, but looking into the love in his eyes filled her with strength and energy, turning her tears to happy ones. The wrinkles she had seen at the start of this less than two months prior were still present, but they did not age him as much now. They merely added to the love on his face that words never could have expressed.

He leaned down and kissed her brow. Arya closed her eyes for a few moments and let her father’s love give her the strength to go forward. She was a Stark, she was a Tully, and soon she would also be a Baratheon. 

Our is the fury, she thought as her father motioned for the guards to open the doors to the main chamber. She thought back to that morning as they entered the chamber and descended the steps to the main floor when she thought she should have had more fury for her situation. Maybe my new husband will be able to teach me to have more fury. She smiled at the thought, grateful she could find something of her future to which to look forward.

She looked at the parted crowd of faces she did not recognize as she walked past them. She could identify which were northern lords by their garments, but their faces did not mean anything to her. She saw her mother and siblings smiling at her at the end of the procession. Their faces mirrored the bittersweet mix of happy and scared that she had seen on her father’s face, with the same love in their eyes as well. She hoped her face held more happiness than fear, if only not to let her new husband know that she was scared. She did not know him yet and refused to let his first impression of her be that of a scared girl. 

She hardened her features as she finally landed her eyes on her betrothed. 

Arya was taken aback by his face. The blood had completely drained from his face. She had nearly forgotten about the scowl he had worn when she had glimpsed him a fortnight prior. Is that just his face? She wondered as he held it firmly in place as he watched her approach with her father. 

She had a brief thought about how there was no weirwood tree present. They were not in a godswood. _Will this marriage count if the new gods are present but not the old? Will their oaths mean the same bond?_

Arya and her father reached the steps and climbed them together. She held his arm tighter when she saw the Baratheon cloak hanging over Prince Gendry’s arm. They finally reached him and the High Septon at the altar. She looked into her father’s eyes again and the love she saw in them steeled her once again. He squeezed her arm back before kissing her head one last time and letting her go to join their family. She watched him descend the steps and then turned back to Prince Gendry. 

His posture was so stiff she worried for his health and comfort. His scowl had lessened but his mouth was still pulled tight. _He is still handsome, though_, she thought as he stared down at her with hard blue eyes. She stared right back and raised her chin, not backing down. She would not let this man think her weak and able to be stared down.

The High Septon instructed the prince to place his cloak around her shoulders to bring her under his protection. She turned to allow him to do so. When he laid the cloak across her shoulders, he also gave them a firm but gentle squeeze. She was surprised by how much the gesture from this relative stranger truly did reassure her. She relaxed her shoulders from the tense position she had not realized they were in. 

She turned back around to Prince Gendry and saw that his features had softened. His eyes still looked troubled, but he was no longer actively scowling at her. As the High Septon spoke his ceremonial words, Arya appraised her new husband more than she had been able to up until that point. 

She began to think she understood why her father had been so adamant that he was a ‘good lad’. Something about the earnestness in his eyes and the quiet confidence in his shoulders gave her the impression that he had a good soul. 

“Now and forever,” the High Septon boomed the final words.

Arya looked up at him then back out at the crowd. They applauded, the loudest of which was King Robert, whom she had only just noticed. His clapping somehow standing out from the rest, he cheered with great mirth. She turned back to Prince Gendry and saw that his features were taut again. It reminded her of all the questions she had for him that had been piling up over the last few weeks.

Prince Gendry extended his hand to her to walk her down the steps. She placed her hand in his surprisingly large and warm hand. He held her hand firmly, but not too tight. Again, his touch seemed more reassuring than she would have expected.

They descended the steps and walked through the parted crowd to the wedding feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on tumblr by the same name. <3<3<3


	3. The Feast and the Bedding Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they are married, the Prince and the Princess find an opportunity to speak, though they are soon whisked away but not without confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, so much for your absolutely lovely comments! They make me so freaking happy and make me want to post faster! So, here is the next chapter. Our newlyweds finally get to sit and get to know each other a bit. I love dialogue, so this was my second favorite scene to write (spoilers: next chapter is my favorite because of how much talking there is). Please, enjoy!

Arya and her new husband, the Crown Prince Gendry Baratheon, were to sit side by side at the center of the raised dais in a beautiful hall within the Red Keep. They had not had the opportunity to speak a word to each other during the walk. He had been soon pulled aside by his father. Her own father had taken her arm and accompanied her on the walk to the hall for the feast.

When she had arrived, many lords and ladies were already seated and had begun their merriment. Her father led her to her seat and stood with her until Prince Gendry and King Robert entered together. Arya noticed that both men’s faces were red with blood. However, King Robert seemed to be in high spirits with an arm around his son’s shoulders, speaking to him with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Prince Gendry’s face seemed to be red with rage. He wore his angriest face yet, which Arya thought with a small laugh just to herself that this was a feat since the man seemed to only have angry, sullen faces. 

_There are worse husbands than sullen ones_, she thought. _I can handle sullen._

Her father reached to squeeze her hand when he saw the king and prince entering. “I’ll be just over there at the next table, my sweetling,” he said before turning to catch up with the king and the prince as they approached. The king reached around her father to embrace him, both smiling like brothers. Prince Gendry shook her father’s hand when he had reached for it. Her father whispered something to Prince Gendry. Arya worried for a moment that there was animosity between the two men, but Prince Gendry looked at her father with happy eyes and gave him a small, but genuine smile. Arya was wryly relieved to find out the man did in fact experience happiness.

The king clapped a hand on her father’s shoulder and began speaking with him as he led him away. Prince Gendry continued toward his seat next to her. Arya watched him as he approached, waiting for him to greet her as he sat down. To her surprise, he did not say a word. She continued to stare at him, while he pointedly stared ahead, visibly uncomfortable.

She realized with a funny feeling that she had no idea what his voice sounded like. For however loquacious as she normally was, the situation had immediately become sufficiently awkward and she did not know what to say.

She knew he knew she was looking at him, and she knew he knew she knew he was not looking at her on purpose. The tension was killing her, so she decided to start as if they just met, which truly they just had.

“I’m Arya,” she said in a friendly tone. He turned to look at her and blinked his eyes a few times. They really were the prettiest eyes. “It’s good to meet you.”

His brow furrowed, but more in a confused way rather than angry. “I’m Gendry. Good to meet you, too.” He held her gaze for a few moments but then looked away again, surveying the feast. 

His voice was not as deep as she thought it was going to be. He may have been as big and tall as a man grown, but she thought maybe he was not as ‘old’ as she thought.

Again, she did not know what to say to him. She remembered the king taking him aside and Prince Gendry being upset by it.

“What did your father say to upset you earlier?” she asked

He turned sharp eyes to her and blushed, which was beyond odd. “I’ve no idea what you mean,” he said curtly and looked away again.

“You’re a liar,” she accused simply.

He gave her a wry look and said, “You know, you shouldn’t insult people bigger than you, especially ones you just met.”

To which she replied easily, “Then I wouldn’t get to insult anyone.” 

“Would that be so bad?” he asked.

“It really would,” she replied.

Two servants came over then and placed plates of food before them, and Arya realized how hungry she was. All the excitement of the day made her forget to eat anything since her mother had reminded her to break her fast that morning. She immediately began on her food, using the first fork she saw to eat about half the plate in just a few minutes. She noticed Prince Gendry eyeing the way she ate and that he had not yet touched his food. 

She raised a brow at him and said hotly, “I’m not much of lady. I’m better with a sword than a table knife.”

His brows went up in surprise but then he gave her the same soft smile he had given her father.

He nodded and looked back out at the feast again. “The sword is a better skill anyway,” he agreed. “Not much good myself with it, but I can make a more than halfway decent one. Up until a few months ago, I thought I’d be spending my life making them.” He looked like he wanted to say more but decided again it.

Arya was impressed with his thoughts on swords and sword-making. “I can teach you better sword fighting. I trained with the First Sword of Braavos for years when I first came to King’s Landing.” 

He gave a small smile into the crowd in response, still looking at anything but her.

“How long have you lived in King’s Landing?” she asked. She started pushing her remaining food around on her plate.

“My whole life,” he said. “Never left before.”

“I’m sure you will get to see all of Westeros when you’re king.” She meant it as a happy thought, but he frowned at the comment. “We’ll definitely go to Winterfell soon. I was born there and had never left until I came here with my father when he became the Hand of the King.”

He nodded at that.

“Why aren’t you eating your food?” she asked as something else to say.

“Not hungry.”

“You should eat your food. It’s been a long day. You might not realize you’re hungry until you take a bite.” She took another bite from her own plate to make a point. “That’s what happened with me.”

He heaved a big sigh and rolled his eyes but leaned forward to grab a fork and take a bite. He made a show of looking at her while chewing it. He put the fork back down and leaned back in his chair, giving her a challenging glare. After a beat, he looked back at his food with a tortured expression.

She laughed at him when he leaned forward and began shoveling food into his mouth similar to how she had just done before. He finished his entire plate in one go. Arya pushed her half-finished plate toward him on the table. He gave her a grateful look before finishing off her plate as well.

“Oh, don’t look so smug, Princess,” he said.

Before she could stop herself, she scrunched her face at the title. “You’re the first person to call me that,” she explained. 

He gave her a sympathetic look, “I’m still not used to it myself yet, so I can’t say yet if it gets any easier.”

She nodded at him. “I call you ‘Prince Gendry’ in my head.”

He made a face of distaste. “No need for that.”

“Oh, would you prefer ‘Crown Prince Gendry of House Baratheon, first of his name’?”

He gave her a pained look, “I would actually not prefer that.”

Arya laughed and noticed that he looked the most comfortable she had seen him. “I heard you were an armorer’s apprentice before my father found you. Is that how you learned to make swords?”

Gendry seemed to puff up with the question. “My master taught me how to make all kinds of swords and armor and other weapons. And, I was good at it. He was working up to teaching me to re-forge Valyrian steel when your father came around asking questions.”

“Valyrian steel?” Arya asked excitedly.

“Aye, Master Mott is the best armorer in the city. Twice as good as any other in King’s Landing.”

“But then my father found you.”

“Aye.”

“And asked you questions.”

“Aye.”

“What did he ask about?”

“My mum.” Gendry no longer looked at ease the way he had when talking about his old work. He picked up a decorative piece on the table and then put it back down.

“Who’s your mum?”

He picked something else up from the table and squeezed it before putting it back down. He looked over at the other tables with their families sitting at them. She saw he was looking at her father as he smiled at his wife as she spoke to him. He looked back down at his feet as he scuffed them on the ground. “Just my mum. Worked in a tavern. Had yellow hair. Died when I was little.” His eyes flickered to her before they went back to looking around the room again. “He came back a few months later and told me I was a son of the king and he needed me to come to court to prove the king’s other children weren’t his.”

Arya listened with rapt attention. Telling the story clearly bothered him, so she let him tell it at his own pace. 

“I’d no idea that while I was there with half a dozen other black-haired and blue-eyed bastards that at the end your father would announce that I would be stepping up to replace the Queen’s children as his heir.” Gendry laughed incredulously. “I still had soot on me from the smithy, and he was telling everyone I was to be a prince.”

“You found out that day?” she asked, matching his incredulity.

“I found out that very moment,” he confirmed.

“I found out we were betrothed that day as well,” Arya confessed. 

He looked at her with sympathy. “He told me a few days after. That I was to marry his daughter.”

“The way he spoke when he first told me and my sister, we both thought he had promised her and not me.”

He nodded in understanding and looked over at her sister who was happily conversing with Bran and Rickon. “That would have made more sense. Isn’t she older?” He asked hesitantly. 

Arya hesitated as well. “Yes. She is six and ten.”

His brow returned to its natural state of furrowed. “And that would make you younger than six and ten.” He started it as a question but ended it as a statement.

Arya nodded.

He looked at his hands. “I’m sorry you’ve been forced into this.” He sounded so small and so sincere.

She wanted to reach out to comfort him the way he had been able to comfort her earlier, but she did not know how and worried this would not be the right moment considering what he was apologizing for. “We both were,” she responded with mirroring sympathy.

He looked deeply troubled and began to brood again. 

-

Their wedding guests soon began to come to their table to express their congratulations and their wishes for many children for them. This made them both uncomfortable, but they began to take in in stride after a few times. 

All three of Arya’s siblings came up at once.

“Does this make you our brother?” Rickon asked without preamble.

“Our good brother,” answered Sansa. 

“But you still have to call him Prince Gendry,” said Bran.

“Oh, you don’t have to. You can call me Gendry,” Gendry supplied bashfully.

“Do you have any siblings? Does that make them our good siblings, too?” Rickon asked.

“I didn’t grow up with any of them, but I have many half-siblings. I don’t know how it works for them. You pry won’t meet ‘em, so it pry won’t matter.” Arya was impressed Gendry seemed to be holding his own when bombarded by several Starklings at once. 

“I think they would be Arya’s good brothers and sisters but not ours,” Sansa answered anyway.

Gendry nodded and said agreeably, “Fair enough.”

Arya guessed maybe she had prepared him a tiny bit with her own peppering of questions.

“When are you going to come visit Winterfell? Last time I saw you, you were taller than me. And, now Rickon and I are both taller than you and you’re married,” Bran complained to Arya with love. 

“Yeah,” Rickon agreed.

Gendry looked at Arya for her answer. “We’ll likely come sooner rather than later. Gendry has never left King’s Landing, and as the future King of the Seven Kingdoms, he will need to see each of them. And, that includes the North.”

Gendry nodded in agreement. 

“Good,” Bran and Rickon said in unison.

“Oh,” Arya said, realizing she had not yet made any introductions. “This is my youngest brother Rickon,” Rickon reached out to shake Gendry’s hand which he did with a small laugh. “This is Bran, my other younger brother,” Bran smiled congenially and instead bowed his head which Gendry returned. “And, this is my older sister Sansa,” she curtsied delicately and Gendry bowed his head again.

Sansa leaned in to whisper to Arya, “It’s almost time.”

Arya looked around and noticed it was already nearly the end of the feast, and the blood drained from her face. When their mother had told them of this tradition, they almost had not believed her.

Gendry leaned in concerned. “Almost time for what?”

Sansa looked at Arya then back to him. “The bedding ceremony.”

He scowled and asked, “What in the Seven Hells is that?”

“Yes, sister, what is that?” Bran asked with Rickon eagerly listening as well.

“You two go back and sit with mother and father, right now,” Sansa shooed them away.

Once they were out of earshot, Arya, Gendry, and Sansa leaned in across the table. “The bedding ceremony is when the women of the wedding rip the clothes off the groom and rush you to your bedchambers and the men rip the dress from the bride and carry her to join you to prepare you both to consummate the marriage,” Sansa explained as simply as she could. “It’s supposed to be a fun ending to the wedding, but I think it is disgusting.”

Gendry looked ready to murder someone. “That won’t be happening. I won’t let it.” He looked at Arya like it was a promise, and she felt herself blush. He wanted to protect her.

Just then, someone shouted, “Bedding!” to great cheers around the hall.

Gendry shot up so fast his chair fell to the ground. Arya heard a clatter to her right and whipped her head around to see that her father had done the same thing. The room went silent.

King Robert stood from his seat slowly and said with a smile, “Come now, Ned. It’s tradition!”

Her father looked dismayed.

From beside her, Gendry said through clenched teeth to his father, “It’s not happening.”

“Listen here, boy,” the king growled.

Gendry interjected, “She’s just a girl!”

“She won’t be a girl when you’re done with her,” the king defended with a laugh.

“Robert!” her father admonished.

“What, Ned? What do you think happens on wedding nights? I remember you filled your wife’s belly with your first babe on your wedding night, so you should know,” King Robert said for the room to hear and then finished his goblet before turning to the men behind him. “Get on with it,” he said before sitting back down. 

Gendry bared his teeth at the men who tried to approach. “I’ve been hammering an anvil these past fifteen years. When I hit that steel it sings. Are you going to sing when I hit you?” With his wide shoulders and tall stature, Gendry posed an intimidating threat to the group of men. 

One was brave, or foolish, enough to step forward anyway. Gendry put a heavy hand on his shoulder, and the man turned around on his own. The other men looked scared but stood their ground. 

Her father tried again, “Robert. That’s enough.”

King Robert slammed his fist on the table and roared, “The boy knows his duty!”

Gendry roared back, “Aye, but this ain’t no duty here! This is just shameful!”

King Robert stood up again. He pointed his finger at Gendry and took a deep inhale preparing to yell again when Gendry interrupted to speak to Sansa while still looking at his father and keeping his body facing the men still waiting to rip Arya’s clothes off in front of the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Lady Sansa,” he spoke dangerously soft.

“Yes, Prince Gendry,” she nearly yelped.

“Would you, please, bring Princess Arya to our bedchambers?” he asked in the same icy tone.

Arya rounded the other end of the table and joined her sister. They each wrapped an arm around the other’s side and left the hall as quickly as they could, only sparing glances for their parents who looked relieved but still outraged. 

“Is this how you want to start your life as my son?” the king’s bellow echoed in the corridor. 

Their father’s voice was the last thing they heard before they were out of earshot, “Let’s talk about this privately, your Grace.”

The sisters were quiet for the long few minutes it took to reach the tower that held the bedchambers of the royal family. Sansa finally broke the silence with a giggle.

“He was very gallant, wasn’t he?”

“Sansa!” Arya admonished. 

Sansa only laughed more. “You haven’t been married a single night yet, and he has already defended your honor from a mob of men who were truly terrified of him.”

“_Ours is the fury_,” Arya commented wryly.

“Oh, yes. You are a Baratheon now. I guess we know for certain that if nothing else, he is most definitely a Baratheon,” Sansa supplied considering.

Arya rolled her eyes at her sister. She appreciated her efforts to lift her spirits after that frightening end to her wedding feast. Sansa had remained her rock these last few weeks, but she could not come with her for this final part of her wedding day.

Once they reached the bedchamber she was to share with her husband, Sansa went in with her for a few minutes before Gendry would join her. 

“The servants brought your things from our room to this one. It will be so lonely in there now without you. I don’t think I have ever slept in a bed by myself before. Maybe, Rickon is young enough still that I can convince him to keep me company. Though, Bran may have objections for similar reasons.”

Arya went to her sister and hugged her tighter than she had ever before. She felt as if tears may come, but they did not. When she pulled away from Sansa, she saw that tears had come for her. 

“He seems honorable, Arya. If you’re not ready, tell him and he may listen.” Sansa brought Arya’s head to hers and kissed her at her hairline. 

“I know my duty, Sansa,” Arya did not know what she meant with those words: was her duty to consummate her marriage like she was supposed to regardless if she was ready, or was her duty already completed by marrying this stranger in her sister’s stead so she need not feel obligated to bed him as well? 

“I love you, sister,” Sansa spoke softly.

“I love you, sister,” Arya whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are like crack to me. Please, know that each one I get makes me smile! <3<3<3<3<3


	4. The Marriage Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newlyweds are allowed their first moments alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much longer than the other chapters have been. I was originally going to split it in two, but I liked it better as one. This chapter actually contains the scene that inspired the whole story, so I'm glad you all have enjoyed everything leading up to it, and I hope you also enjoy this chapter itself.

Arya stood in Gendry’s bedchambers by herself, staring at the large bed with its pretty canopy and lovely carvings on the wooden posts. Sansa had left to their old room, and she waited for Gendry to join her so they could… She had been trying to block this part out of her mind. She understood what needed to be done in a figurative sense. They were to consummate the marriage to make it legally binding in the eyes of the gods and the law. 

Her mother had explained the mechanics to her. She had told her that being with her husband was not supposed to hurt her, but that she may be too nervous this night to avoid it. Her mother told her the most important thing to remember was to stay calm and relaxed. Standing alone in the room, she felt she could do that. However, the moment she heard footstep in the corridor, her body went tense with trepidation. Everything was so unknown and unfamiliar, and she was scared.

She felt her arms cross tight around her middle as she heard the door open. She turned to face it as Gendry entered, and their eyes met. In the doorway, his face still held the fury from earlier until he saw her face and her defensive stance. His shoulders drooped and his face softened. He turned to close and latch the door and paused for a few breaths before turning back around to Arya. Neither spoke for several long moments. Arya wanted to loosen her limbs and say something to break the awful tension, but she was stuck. 

Gendry made a pained face and opened and closed his mouth a few times, seemingly also at a loss for what to say to her. Despite the amicable words they had exchanged during the feast and the already good nature growing between the two, they were still relative strangers preparing to perform deeply intimate acts.

“Arya…” he managed.

“Gendry…” she had thought to converse with him at the feast had been difficult. This was distinctly harder.

“Please, stop looking at me like that,” he pleaded. “I won’t be bedding you.”

“Ever?” she surprised them both with the question. She was relieved and confused by what he said, and this was not her greatest worry, but it was what came out. He was offering to be honorable to her on their wedding night, and she was worried about what that would mean for their future nights together.

“Well, eventually, yes, I assume. But not while you’re so young.” His eyes were so earnest and sincere that it made her arms finally loosen, though she still held them around her middle. “I’ll need an heir one day if I am to be king,” he stopped abruptly and had a far off look. “Seven Hells, I’m to be king. Still not used to that. Don’t really want to be king if I’m honest.”

“Don’t tell people that,” Arya warned. Those were words that were not safe even behind closed doors.

“You’re not people, though. Are you? You’re my wife,” he smiled sadly at her.

“Yes, I am your wife. You can tell me, but don’t tell anyone else that.” _Or this marriage will be for naught_, she thought.

“Aye, you’re my wife, and you are less than six and ten and I am nine and ten. Is this how highborns go about? I am a man grown, and have you even bled yet?” he asked incredulously. 

Arya tensed again at his question, and she could see that he immediately regretted asking it.

“Shit, sorry,” he blushed, deeply embarrassed. “I just meant that I would not be bedding a lady so young,” and more quietly to himself, “No matter what my king father says.” 

“I’m not a lady,” Arya said defensively. If they were not to bed that night, she did not know what to do next. _And, he could still change his mind_, she remembered. This Gendry did seem like a good lad like her father and mother had said. Earnest and protective. But, she did not know this man for true. None of them could know who he was behind closed doors. Men can hide their true selves behind smiles and words. 

But, as she watched him smile at her in response to her claiming to not be a lady, she could not find a bit of deceit. He seemed to hide his smiles more than hiding behind them. As far as she could tell from their short times together, his smiles were often private little things that had to be earned. He more often wore scowls or frowns, hiding behind those instead.

“They married you to a prince, so you must be some sort of lady. Even if it’s some bastard prince.” His smile was surprisingly bashful, and that melted something in her more than anything else. She had prepared herself for a sullen husband, but he had been slowly proving himself through the evening to be quite sweet. 

Arya finally dropped her arms to her sides. “It’s all the same to me,” she told him. “Bastard or not.”

He looked at her surprised.

“All the best boys are bastards, I’ve found. My favorite sibling is my bastard half-brother Jon.” Before he could respond, she quickly added worried, “But don’t tell the others I said that.”

Gendry laughed. “As your husband, I am sworn to keep your secrets,” he gave her a small smirk at having another secret for them to share. First that he did not want to be king and then that she had a favorite sibling. It made her heart feel a little light and made the prospect of marriage a little less awful. Arya could see herself caring for this man. She could see how she had just maybe gained a friend and a partner. 

Arya looked away from Gendry and around the room. She stood near the center while he still stood in front of the door to the chamber, both in their wedding garb. She looked back at Gendry. “If we are not… consummating the marriage tonight,” she couldn’t bring herself to say it in any other less formal way. “Then, what do we do?”

Gendry’s face reddened again, and he looked down then back at Arya. “We sleep,” he said simply. “But first…,” he started and then began walking into the room. He went around her toward a trunk near the bed. He opened it and drew out a small, sheathed blade. He unsheathed it and brandished it to her. “A Valyrian steel hunting knife, a wedding gift from my father when we were first betrothed,” he explained and seemed to teeter between being proud of the weapon and being bitter toward his father. It had become obvious to Arya that there was great tension between Gendry and the king. 

Arya walked to Gendry and stepped close to appreciate the blade. “It’s beautiful,” she said a little in awe. She had seen her father’s Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice, which was far more impressive. However, any piece of this special material was magnificent to see up close and touch. Arya looked up at Gendry, who had been watching her. “What are you going to do with it?” She could acknowledge that it was strange for her new husband to pull out a blade in their chambers on their wedding night, but she could not bring herself to fear him. She told herself maybe she should. Again, she did not know this man well, but she could not feel any fear in her body as Gendry pulled the blade gently away from her and walked toward their bed.

“Well, you see. Our Good King Robert,” Gendry stood in front of the bed and heaved a deep sigh. “Pulled me away just after the ceremony,” Gendry leaned over and pulled the bedding down to the foot of the bed with one big swoop. “And told me,” he turned his head over his shoulder to meet Arya’s eye, “his breath heavy with drink already.” He turned back to the bed and brought the blade up to his other hand and placed the sharp edge gently in his palm. “That he would be inspecting our bedsheets in the morn.”

Arya was disgusted with the king. Her father had never forced either of his daughters to spend any great deal of time with the man, and neither of them had ever had any interest in him after he allowed for the murder of Sansa’s direwolf, Lady. He had not seemed like such a vile man from afar, simply boisterous and lazy, but Arya felt a great distaste for the man who had the opposite intentions as her new husband for her wedding night.

Gendry held his position, arms extended and taut over the bed. “When they told me you were young, I asked if the bedding was necessary to complete the marriage. And he said…” Arya’s heart ached for him as he snarled, “I don’t want to say what he said.” 

When he still made no move, Arya went to his side. She looked at his face, pulled tight in another of his scowls, and then looked at his hands, poised to slice open his palm.

He heaved another great sigh before lowering his hands to his sides and slumping his shoulders, the quiet confidence she had seen before in those shoulders gone for the moment. Without turning his face toward her, his eyes looked at her, and he blushed. He looked at the blade and said, “I’m actually… I’m a maid myself.” 

He shuffled his feet as if he was embarrassed, though she was unsure why. Perhaps he thought himself too old for a man to have not been with a woman. Arya had assumed he had been, so she did not know how to feel about his not having been. It would have been before their betrothal before he knew he would have to marry a highborn lady. He could never have known. No one could have. 

“I hadn’t wanted to father any bastards like myself. I was just Gendry with no house, no name or family. I was still an apprentice. Nothing yet to hand down to any children.” After a moment, he breathed out a disbelieving laugh, “And now I have a name and a Kingdom and a wife.” He turned his head to look at Arya, and she looked back at him, caught once again by how pretty his eyes were.

This time Arya did reach out to comfort him. She placed her hand firmly on his arm. It was too wide for her to wrap her hand around, but she squeezed as best as she could. He reached his other hand over and placed it on top of hers and squeezed back.

“What are you trying to do with the blade?” She asked. She had an idea of what he wanted to do, but she did not know what caused his hesitation. 

They both released their hands, and he lifted the hand holding the blade. “I want to bloody the bed for when my father inspects the sheets, but as I have not been with a woman, maid or not, I do not know how much to let.”

“I am unsure as well. My mother told me if I was too nervous and tense, there would be more pain and more blood, but she did not explain how much exactly it would be more or less than.” This had been something that had worried Arya so deeply when trying to prepare herself for her wedding night, the blood and the pain. She remembered that eventually, they would have to do this. That one day she would be old enough and he would need an heir. At least they would be able to know each other better by then. She ideally would not be as scared and would be able to relax and the pain would be as little as necessary.

Gendry chuckled wryly beside her, “Oh, great. So either too little and they do not believe us or too much I become known as a brute.”

“Don’t forget we must sleep in this bed tonight as well,” Arya added trying to be helpful, but by the dry look Gendry gave her, she could tell that it was in fact not helpful. “Well, I imagine it should be significantly less than my moonblood.” She looked over at Gendry. “You should not have asked, because it is impolite,” she smirked when he blushed and looked contrite. “But I have in fact flowered. They would not have let me marry if I had not. A woman cannot legally marry, even for a prince, until she has flowered,” Arya explained. She realized this may be knowledge one gets when raised in a noble family. Gendry was not raised in a noble family despite being born with the blood of one. “Boys become men grown when they reach the age of six and ten.”

Gendry made a sound of understanding. “That doesn’t sound like a very fair law,” he remarked.

“Very few laws in this land are fair to girls,” Arya said with a sad sort of anger at the truth of it. “But they are the types of laws more enforced by the people than by the rulers, so I do not know if there is much a king could do about it.”

Gendry made another sound of understanding, this time a little sadder. 

They were quiet for a few moments before Arya said, “I think they’ll be expecting other fluids as well.”

“Absolutely not.”

Arya laughed at his quick and hard response to the suggestion of him spilling his seed in the bed while she was in the room. “Well, I think I have a plan for this.” She gestured to his hand with the blade. “You nick your hand just a bit. And then you smear it a bit around here,” she pointed to where she guessed her hips would sit if they were to truly lay together that night. “Then we dilute it some with a small splash of water. You’ll wipe your hand on a cloth and we’ll dilute that blood as well with water, maybe spit in it as much as you can. From what my mother described, that should imply proper bedding.” Her mother had told her about cleaning herself after the act. That her husband’s seed would need to be cleaned from between her thighs, so she would need a cloth ready that would need to be discarded privately with her handmaids if she wanted to maintain some decorum with her new husband. 

When Arya turned to look at Gendry, he looked pleasantly impressed. “Aye, m’lady.” He brought his hands up once again over the middle of the bed.

“Don’t call me that,” she said.

Gendry chuckled as he moved the blade to cut his palm.

“Wait!” Arya exclaimed.

Gendry halted, “What?” He turned to her with wide eyes.

“Will a hand-wound be too obvious?” she asked.

Gendry considered this. “I think it is only my father who cares so dearly for this, and I don’t think he will be inspecting my own body in the morn.”

“But will others take notice? Will it put you in danger with your rivals for them to know that your marriage, the marriage you were rushed into to give you legitimacy with a noble family, is unconsummated?” Arya worried for the ramifications of his noble act of sparing her from a ghastly night.

Gendry considered this as well. “Where would you suggest I cut instead?”

Arya thought. “Perhaps, I can cut my own hand instead.”

“No,” Gendry said. “I wouldn’t have you do that. Besides, if someone were to notice, they might think you were without a maidenhead before our wedding and needed to trick me.”

Arya frowned; he was right. But, she had an idea. “Cut your leg. Your calf or your thigh.”

Gendry pulled his lips to one side. “That could do.” He reached under the fabric of his tunic to get to the laces of his breeches and then stopped abruptly and turned to her with wide eyes. “Turn around,” he instructed.

Arya laughed in his face. “You truly are a maid, aren’t you, Gendry?”

He scowled at her, so she did as he asked.

“You do recall I have four brothers, right? And, you are also now my husband as of a few hours ago?” she asked into the room. She heard the sliding of his laces and the ruffle of cloth moved aside.

“And, do you recall the structure of men’s trousers and small clothes making it very difficult to expose some flesh without exposing much more?” She heard his hiss as the blade made its slide through his skin and then his movement as he leaned across the bed.

She wanted to make sure he spread the blood in the correct spot, so she peeked over her shoulder. She saw he indeed found the correct spot, near the middle of the bed around where her hips would lay. As she turned to look away, she caught sight of the exposed flesh of Gendry’s thigh. It was as thick and meaty as she had imagined that first day she and Sansa had seen him in the throne room. She remembers thinking that his breeches were too tight, but it was likely that it was simply difficult to make clothes to accommodate the bulging of powerful muscles such as his without looking too loose when not flexed. The hair on his thigh, however, surprised her the most. His chin was bare, but that was likely to be due to shaving and not to a lack of hair. 

Gendry finished smearing the blood on the sheets. As he leaned back up, his breeches began to fall further down his legs, exposing more pale and harried flesh.

Arya whipped back around as she felt an unfamiliar roll in her stomach. She did not know what it was but it made her blush and bite her lip in embarrassment. She had laughed at Gendry’s shyness, but now she was hesitant to turn back to him when the time came.

“What cloth should I use for the second part?” he asked from behind her.

“I have one in my trunk,” she answered. It was across the room in front of her so she could easily approach it and search for one of the soft pieces of fabric she would normally have used for her woman’s blood. It would serve well for this purpose. She started to turn back to him but stopped mid-turn. “Can I turn to approach you now?” she called over her shoulder with a little sass in her tone to tease him despite her concerns.

She heard him rustle his clothes for a few seconds and then call, “Aye, come over now.”

She turned and saw him awkwardly holding his clothes so that the blood would not get on his breeches and ruin their ruse. She walked to him and handed him the cloth. He took it, brought it into his breeches, and used it to apply pressure to the wound. They were quiet for a few moments.

“Did the cut hurt?” Arya asked.

“Not much. I’ve had worse in the smithy. Cuts heal better than burns, I can tell you that. If Master Mott knew you burned yourself being careless, he wouldn’t let you use the salve that took the sting away.”

“Every hurt is a lesson,” Arya said. “It was something the First Sword of Braavos told me.”

Gendry smiled, “Aye, Master Mott would say something to the likes of that. Say we wouldn’t mess up again while we still hurt from the last mistake.” He grunted as he removed the cloth from his pants and handed it to Arya. He turned away from her to re-lace his breeches, as she went to the water basin to drip enough water onto the cloth to reasonably dilute the blood. She then spat as much as she could into the cloth as well. It felt gross, but she was confident it would help supplement the blood on it and that which was in the bed if anyone was still suspicious. She dipped her hand in the basin to collect a small amount of wetness to carry to the bed.

As she approached the bed, she handed the cloth to Gendry instructing him to spit in it as well. He made a face of distaste but did as he was bid. Arya ran her wet hand through the smeared blood at the center of the bed. She pulled her hand back, spat on it, and then added that to the spot on the bed.

Gendry made a sound of distaste to match his face. “As you said before, we still have to sleep in this bed tonight,” he reminded her.

Arya smiled at him, “Oh, Gendry. It will be worse when it’s real.”

He blushed and nodded noncommittally. “Where should I put this?” He brought up the hand holding the bloodied cloth. 

“I’ll put it near my side of the bed, so it will look like I used it.”

“Which side would you like?”

“I would sleep on the right side when I shared a bed with Sansa.”

“Then you will have the right side.” He handed her the cloth, and for a moment neither of them knew what to do. There would be no bedding, they had finished hiding that fact, and that left nothing but to prepare to sleep. 

They went to their respective trunks to fetch their nightclothes. They both changed facing their trunks on different sides of the room in silent agreement to not look and to wait until the other had finished before returning to the bed. 

Arya was relieved to finally remove the stiff wedding dress. Sansa had lamented that she had not been able to sew something new for her, but there had simply not been time. Instead, they had been able to find a fairly simple dress already made, and Sansa made slight adjustments and flourishes herself. Arya’s favorite addition had been the tiny direwolves stitched on the sleeves and the bodice. She would cherish the garment if only for the love imbued into it from her sister. 

Arya exchanged her small clothes for fresh ones and covered herself with a clean nightshift that went below her knees. It was soft and loose, and it was the first comfortable thing she had worn that day. She stood patiently waiting, listening for Gendry to finish changing. Once she heard him still as well, she called out, “Ready?”

“Aye,” Gendry called back.

They turned toward the bed and climbed into their respective sides, blowing out candles as they passed them leaving only the two beside the bed, one for each of them. Gendry pulled the covers from the foot of the bed and laid them across them both. As she settled onto her pillow, Arya noticed Gendry laid uncomfortably stiffly under the covers in his loose nightshirt and breeches.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, “The bed just feels gross with the blood and spit in it.”

Arya laughed heartily at him, “Oh, you squeamish maid.”

“I regret telling you that,” he said with narrowed eyes at her.

“I fear how you’ll fare when the time comes for us to truly join as husband and wife.” It was easier to talk about when it made him squirm like that. It was more a jest than a reality that would come for them one day. She stayed laying on her side for a few long moments smiling at Gendry’s scrunched up face as he stared determinedly at the canopy above their bed. 

Eventually, Gendry heaved a deep breath and turned to her in the dim light. When he saw her smile, he returned it with his own soft smile. “Sleep well, Arya,” he spoke softly between them. 

“Sleep well, Gendry,” she returned. 

He turned to blow out his candle, settling on his side facing away from her.

She did the same, facing away as well.

Arya laid on the right side of the bed, her side of the bed, the side she had always had since she could remember, even at Winterfell. She laid there facing away from Gendry, her new husband, this near stranger. It felt like the longest day of her life. It had been the most changing day of her life, even more so than when she left Winterfell for the first time never to return and ending in King’s Landing. She had started the day as Lady Arya of House Stark wife of no one and ended her day as Princess Arya Stark wife of the Crown Prince Gendry Baratheon.

But, much was still the same. She still had Sansa and her father nearby for the foreseeable future. Much of her duties would remain the same, which were few already. She still had her brown hair and long face and her wolf blood. No husband could take that away from her. She would never stop being ‘little sister’ to Jon Snow. 

She laid beside Gendry. The word husband became easier to swallow with each use, but it remained an untouchable idea. Her father was a husband to her mother. He loved and listened to her. He was devoted to her, and they were partners and confidants in everything they did. She had only known Gendry for a handful of hours. He just could not be those things yet. That took time. But even in the short time they had had together, he had comforted and protected her. He had listened to her and shared with her as well. They had made each other laugh. They had even already conspired together, keeping secrets for the other. 

Calling him her husband was simply a fact; calling him her friend was a truth she could accept. She looked forward to waking in the morning and hearing more about his smithing with Master Mott. She hoped that they could visit him and see armor and swords be made. She looked forward to teaching him how to swordfight and how to be light on his feet, just as Syrio had taught her. 

She had gained a new friend that day. It was much easier to think of that way. Much easier to breathe with that thought in her head instead of having to think about how she was a married woman, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, future Queen. She was Arya, and she had made a new friend named Gendry. That sounded really nice to her. It made her smile as she fell asleep.

-

The next morning, Arya found herself alone in the bed, woken only by the rays of light coming in through the balcony. It was several hours after dawn from what she could tell from the amount of light coming in and when she sat up and surveyed the room, she spotted Gendry dressed in a fresh tunic and breeches and sitting at the desk in the far end of the chamber near the largest window of the room. 

He was scowling as he dipped a feathered quill into an inkwell and began penning onto a simple piece of parchment. 

“Good morning,” Arya called to him.

He looked up surprised. “Good morning,” he said back. He blinked at her a few times before asking if she slept well.

She told him that she had, which was true. She was surprised he was such an early riser. She herself could sleep the day away if nothing brought her out of her bed. She asked him why he woke so early.

“Still used to smithing hours, I suppose.” He put the quill down. “Takes a deal of preparations to get a smithy started for the day before customers come round. And, you want to get as much work done before the heat of the day hits and the flames get to be too much.”

“Can we visit it? Your old master’s forge?” she asked.

“I’m sure we could. I’ve been too afraid to ask.” His hands fiddled with the piece of parchment he had been writing on. “This has all felt like some strange dream that won’t end. And going back to where everything changed… I’m not sure, I guess I worry I’ll wake up if I go there. And, I don’t know if I want to wake up anymore. I did at first, but…” he shrugged. 

Arya was struck with how open and honest he had been with her since the wedding the day before. He had been reluctant at first. They had been literal strangers, of course he would be. But since then, after just a few short conversations, he held nothing back. She appreciated this deeply.

She got out of bed and approached Gendry at the desk. “What are you writing?” she asked.

He looked back at the parchment in his hands and handed it to her as she approached. “Nothing really. Just practicing my letters. Never had reason to learn more than what was necessary for words of my trade or for making sales. Now I have to catch up.”

Arya nodded in understanding as she looked at the sloppy scratches of letters in neat but nonsensical rows across the parchment. It had been fascinating in a sad way to discover how different people of high birth and those of low birth experience life and education. There are great power and agency to be gained through reading and writing. And, most of the people of Westeros could do neither and were then destined to suffer in their stations.

Arya said, “I’ve never been a very patient teacher, but I am happy to help you practice as much as you like.”

“I’d appreciate that very much, actually. Though at the moment, I’m still just learning to write a little better than _barely readable_. I’m told highborns write prettier than most.” He took the parchment back and instead started writing numbers and performing simple arithmetic. “I do know my numbers, though. You need that in a smithy for measurements and for selling.”

Just then, they heard the door to the chamber jiggling and then knocking when it didn’t open since Gendry had latched it last night.

Gendry tensed and stood stiffly, his hands resting heavily on the desk. He looked at Arya then back at the door. “Good morning,” he called to the door.

The soft voice of a handmaid came through the door, “Good morning, Your Grace. I’ve come to freshen the room for the day.”

Gendry’s shoulders relaxed before he strode around the other side of the desk to unlatch the door and let the girl in. Arya wondered if Gendry worried someone else would come to their room that morning for them. Perhaps that was why he was awake and ready for the day so early, in case his king father came first thing that morn to inspect the sheets himself. The king had been so far in his drinks the night before, that Arya would have been far more surprised if he would rouse himself so early for anything in the world, even this.

They watched as the girl replaced the water basin with fresh water then went straight to their bed to retrieve their sheets, presumably to show the king or to show whatever authority needed to confirm the consummation of their marriage so immediately. The girl left the room with no other preamble, other than a glance at Arya. Arya wondered if it was in sympathy since the girl saw the blood and had made the assumption that she and Gendry had wanted others to make. It was a good thing, though Arya then understood some would look down on Gendry for wedding such a young bride and bedding her as he was supposed to.

With the door closed once again, Arya and Gendry turned from the door to look at each other. “I think it will work,” she told him hopefully.

“I think so as well,” he said back, just as hopeful. “I’m just relieved my father didn’t come himself.”

“Yes, we are fortunate in that,” Arya agreed. She made to move toward her truck, so she could also dress for the day ahead of them. She would need to seek out her sister and mother, and she was sure Gendry had his own duties for the day.

Gendry turned to face away from her when he surmised her intentions to change. “I also wanted to be plain on something with you,” he started but did not continue.

“Yes?” she prompted, turning her head over her bared shoulder to look at his back.

“I will never lay with another woman.” He sounded nervous and earnest, and Arya was touched. “I promise to never dishonor you in that way, even while we… delay. I will make no advances or set any expectations for you.” 

She furrowed her brow and brought her hand to her beating heart as she turned back to her trunk, both their backs to each other once again. She did not understand the feeling in her heart, the strange ache in her chest that came at his words that were different from the feeling in her stomach she had the night before.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice smaller than she meant. “And, I will let you know when I am ready.”

Gendry made a sound of acknowledgment, and she finished dressing.

They parted for the morning to their respective duties of the day.

-

Arya went straight to find her sister in the Tower of the Hand. Sansa was still in her nightclothes, but she was wide awake, clearly waiting for Arya to arrive.

“Sister,” Sansa said as they embraced.

Before Sansa could get any questions out, Arya said “Is it just you? No Bran or Rickon?”

Sansa shook her head _no_ with excited eyes.

Sansa closed the door behind Arya, and they both jumped onto the bed so Arya could share news of the night.

“He was truly honorable the whole of the night,” Arya rushed out.

Sansa made a happy squealing sound that on any other occasion would have had Arya rolling her eyes, but on this morning Arya almost found herself joining her sister in the sound.

“Oh, I knew it. I just knew it!” Sansa said. “With how _angry_ he was with King Robert. I heard father had to lead the king from the feast and mother had to soothe Gendry from beating the men who had come for you.”

“Yes, he was in such a rage when he first came to our chambers, but the moment he saw me, he became a perfect gentleman.” Arya really hated that others would not be able to know this about him. Those in court would not look too low down on him since the marriage was perfectly legal, but he would be known to most as a man who would bed his very young bride on their wedding night. At least Sansa would know, and Arya would tell their mother as well. Especially, as she would want more advice from her mother as she got older for when she would truly lay with him. “He said he would not lay with me until I was in want of his company in that way and that he would never lay with another woman, even until then. It is such a shame that such an action and declaration requires such honor, but such is the world in which we live. Where girls are at the mercy of the kindness of their husbands.”

“This is very true, sister,” Sansa said peaceably. “You are fortunate in an unfortunate world.” After a moment Sansa asked, “What did you do instead? Did you get to speak to each other? I know you were so upset when you were not able to speak to him before the ceremony.”

“Actually,” Arya started, “King Robert told Gendry that he had to consummate the marriage to ensure the alliance was completed.”

“So, must he now face his father’s wrath? Was that what the argument was about at the end of the feast?” Sansa asked.

“Exactly. Gendry had expressed concern at having such a young bride, but his father insisted. So, when Gendry came to our chambers and told me it would not happen that night, we instead _schemed_. It was great fun.” Arya relayed to Sansa how Gendry used his new Valyrian steel hunting blade from his father to cut his leg to provide the blood that otherwise would have come from Arya herself. 

Sansa nearly swooned from what she called _such great gallantry_. Arya was quietly pleased with her reaction. At least one more person would be able to appreciate Gendry’s consideration for her age and comfort. 

Once Sansa was dressed for the day, the sisters sought out their lady mother to share the story with her as well.

-

“Your father said he was a good lad,” their mother said with a pleased but reserved smile. 

In her solar, the mother and her two daughters sat together. Arya had not felt particularly close with either of them when they had all been together in Winterfell. But, the years she had spent in King’s Landing with her sister and the shared experience she had with her mother of an unexpected arranged marriage had brought them much closer.

She still might not have been as good at being a lady as they were, but that no longer made her feel so different from them. They each had their hardships, and each faced them with the strength of true Northerners. They loved each other and all the rest of their family with both ferocity and gentleness. No matter how they dressed or spent their idle time, their hearts all beat with the same blood. 

Arya could see the importance of that so clearly this day. It was a lesson long in the making, and Arya felt it in her bones. 

-

True to his word, Gendry made no advances for her maidenhead nor sought the company of another woman’s bed. There was scarce a night the two did not spend together. Over time, Arya found that most others shared her first impression of her husband to be a surly and dower man, prone to frowning and furrowed brows. However, he was rarely without a smile when the two were in private. 

When they would walk the grounds of the Red Keep together, Arya would loop her arm through his and he would rest his hand on her own. He told her of growing up in Flea Bottom with the other orphans. He remembered so little of his mother, but he remembered loving her and feeling loved by her. He was grateful for at least that. 

For many of the first years of his apprenticeship with Tobho Mott, he could not manage to get along with any of the other children his age. The other apprentices teased him and he was not a friendly person by nature, so he was rather isolated from them and did not know how to fix it. 

Eventually, he became so good at smithing that they would ask for his help and advice. That was something that he could easily communicate, and he slowly made friends with them that way as they all got older. He admitted that the children would call him the Bull, due to his obstinate nature. It had tempered a degree since that, something that came as he learned to better engage the others in the forge.

Arya loved hearing about Gendry as a boy, how he had become the man grown he was before her. The blind stubbornness he once had developed into an admirable strength of resolve, as demonstrated on their wedding night, when he stood up to his father about the bedding ceremony no matter the personal consequences at that moment.

When she told him about her childhood in Winterfell, he told her how much he wished to visit it soon. They spoke to the king and her father about when they could pay an emissary visit to Winterfell next. 

There was concern to leave the capital so soon after Gendry had just been established as prince. However, it was decided that it would be beneficial to visit each of the seven kingdoms to reestablish connections with each and to introduce the new prince. 

As the family of the Hand of the King, Catelyn, Bran, and Rickon, were to return to Winterfell in six turns of the moon, they argued that Winterfell would be a natural start to such a procession.

Arya was elated when the king agreed and spent each night before they lay for bed telling Gendry about each person she remembered and how she hoped they were still there and were happy. She told him about Old Nan who was the oldest person Arya had ever seen and knew every story there was to know. And, there was Maester Luwin who would always give her balms for her cut and scrapes without telling her mother and father, so he was a trustworthy friend if there ever was one. Though she never got the chance to thank him, there was also Mikken who had made Needle for her upon Jon Snow’s request. 

The two looked forward to their first adventure together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. This is the end of this part of the story. I have drafted out but not fully written the next part which is significantly more smutty since it takes place as Arya gets older and comes of age. I decided to post these chapters since they were finished and I really wanted to see if this was a story people would enjoy reading. I am so grateful that it is. I also chose to end here, because this is a nice wrapping up point before the story starts moving into an E rating. I wanted to give a cohesive story to anyone who wasn't interested in the smuttier stuff. 
> 
> That said, I don't expect to get the rest out soon, because I've been having some writer's block on turning my outline into a full story. But I am very much in love with the story and Arya and Gendry's relationship in it, so it shouldn't be _too_ long. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left a kudos or a comment. They truly made me so happy and are definitely helping me get started on writing out the rest of the story. <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos' and comments fill my heart with joy! <3<3<3<3<3


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